The Way to a Man's Heart
by frozen-delight
Summary: Four times Dean preferred Sam's eating habits to Sherlock's and one time he didn't.


Just a little Sherlock/Dean ficlet for **stardust_made**, who asked the all-important question "What would Dean find more appalling: Sam's healthy eating habits or Sherlock's non-eating habits?"

Please enjoy!

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**The Way to a Man's Heart…**

Dean likes to think himself a simple man, and as a simple man he's allowed simple pleasures. Unfortunately, the rest of the world doesn't seem to agree.

After all the crap they've already been through, the frigging Apocalypse included, Dick and his big mouth companions actually have the cheek to touch the thing that's most sacred to Dean apart from his baby: food.

Needless to say, his Lance Armstrong of a brother doesn't quite get the problem and tries to tout a basket filled with … ugh… vegetables and fruit as a suitable replacement.

Needless to say, Dean feels a lot closer to whacking his brother with one of the bananas than eating it.

He really thought it couldn't possibly get more depressing than this, but of course that was before he met Sherlock Holmes.

~S~

_Sherlock doesn't keep regular eating hours._

Not just not regular in the sense of not always lunch on the stroke of twelve, but really not regular. So not regular it's mostly just very not-not-not.

They've been out all day chasing some killer through Greater London, because Sherlock is a madman who thinks that's the most exciting thing ever, and because he's crazy Dean thought so too - until his stomach began rumbling two hours ago. At some point they passed a deliciously smelling bakery, and Dean was on the point of stepping inside, when his bastard of a boyfriend called after him, "Hurry up, we're losing him." So no pie or pastry for Dean and yet more running. If only he had his car.

Once they've finally caught up with the killer and delivered him into the hands of the waiting police, Dean thinks that he would probably even accept one of those yucky salad shakes Sammy likes so much. However, by all appearances a completely oblivious Sherlock wants to drag Dean straight off to bed.

Dean's feeling so faint with hunger he'll count himself if he ever gets it up again, never mind tonight. "Dude?" he says with emphasis. "_Food_?" His stomach agrees loudly.

Sherlock stares at him, honestly surprised. "You're _hungry_?"

Mostly, Dean just wants to punch him. Except for the part that's unfortunately got a bit of a thing for Sherlock when he's looking genuinely clueless. So he just stabs at finger right into the other man's face and glares.

"You're lucky I don't hit girls."

_~S~_

_Sherlock steals his food._

Dean's aware that he's got a long history of stealing other people's food, but that doesn't mean anyone's allowed to steal his. Least of all someone who's got a whole steaming plate of Lo Mein sitting right in front of him.

At the beginning he'd still thought it was an accident, the same way he'd seen Sherlock drink out of a flower vase once while his thoughts were somewhere in another galaxy entirely. But it's happening decidedly too often to be a coincidence. Probably Dean should have suspected something like this as soon as he saw Sherlock decline the chopsticks. Dean's seen pretty much anything Sherlock can do with those elegant fingers of his – it seems quite improbable he wouldn't know how to handle something so simple as chopsticks.

"Dude, order your own," he says, batting away Sherlock's fork which has once again come dangerously near his plate of Kung Pao chicken.

"But I don't want a whole dish of it," Sherlock protests. "And it tastes much better this way." He looks very pleased with himself and entirely unrepentant.

"I don't care," Dean says. "You've already taken five chunks – "

"Seven."

"What?"

"Seven pieces of chicken," Sherlock corrects him, grinning. "You were too distracted to notice the first two times."

Dean groans. He really should have known that Sherlock's foot, almost as versatile as his fingers, hadn't distracted him under the table for nothing.

_~S~_

_Sherlock forgets to buy his food._

Dean can live with Sherlock not speaking to him for hours and having no idea whatsoever what goes on in the other man's head, but arriving to a flat completely devoid of food on a completely non-surprise visit makes him feel distinctly unloved.

"Seriously, man," he says after devoting an extensive rant to the subject, "I puke my way through a transatlantic flight and then this is my welcome?"

Sherlock just looks at him with a very miserable, very childlike face.

Damn if Dean doesn't feel like the unloving party now.

He must be suicidal, he thinks, to willingly associate with two people who're contenders for world champion in heartbreaking puppy dog looks.

Rubbing a weary hand over his face he says, more gently, "Come on, let's just go and grab a bite, okay?"

_~S~_

_Sherlock doesn't treat food with the proper respect._

"Look, I bought you pie," Sherlock announces proudly and for one moment Dean just wants to kiss him, but then Sherlock opens the door to the fridge and Dean feels a lot closer to barfing. Because sitting right on top of a scrumptious-looking pie is a bag of thumbs. Bloody.

Dean's really not squeamish around body parts in general. He'd rather like to think that he's already had his fair share of fun with them, in the course of his long hunting career. But this really, really doesn't mean that body parts are allowed to be near anything he wants to eat. Least of all pie.

He gulps, takes a deep breath and says, "Hey, why don't we sit down a bit and you tell me all about that case you mentioned in your texts, that one with the murderous cyclist?"

"Do you want a slice of pie to go along with it?" Sherlock asks and looks ridiculously happy with himself for being such a good host.

"Not hungry at the moment," Dean says as levelly as possible, because he doesn't want to see the kicked puppy look again so soon.

Sherlock frowns, clearly puzzled, but complies nonetheless.

Later, when Sherlock feeds him a slice of pie in bed, Dean is way too sleep-addled and content to remember where it's been. It tastes nice.

_~S~_

_But Sherlock always lets Dean have his leftovers._

"You sure?" Dean asks between bites as Sherlock pushes his still half-full plate of Chicken Tikka Masala towards him. "Mmm, this is awesome."

"I've had more than enough," Sherlock says. "I never want that much."

"Jesus, think of all that wasted food before you met me," Dean exclaims. Not that he's complaining.

"No. Don't worry about the poor children in Africa or something similarly idiotic," Sherlock says and rolls his eyes. Then he smiles, just ever so slightly. "Before you, I always ordered the children's portion."

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Thanks for reading.


End file.
